


dryaden

by willurosinmybow



Category: Twosetviolin, Video Blogging RPF, twoset violin
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Magical Realism, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:34:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23500135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willurosinmybow/pseuds/willurosinmybow
Summary: "I keep dreaming that I'm a violin. That's pretty weird, isn't it?"
Relationships: Breddy - Relationship, Eddy Chen/Brett Yang
Comments: 11
Kudos: 97





	dryaden

A tingle runs down Brett's spine as Eddy starts playing an excerpt of Mozart. Then a full body sensation of being tickled - as if by a thousand feathers, or one deft, light bow. Brett can't help it - he laughs out loud. 

Eddy looks over at him, ending the phrase on a question mark. "What?"

Brett shakes his head, shrugs. "I don't know. I felt tickles."

"Brett," Eddy says solemnly. "Were you... tickled by a ghost?" He snickers, unable to keep it in any longer. 

Brett swats at Eddy's shoulder. "Maybe. Tell your ghost to keep his tickles to himself!"

*

Brett dreams that he's cold and alone. Tension runs through his body as he lays perfectly still. He can't move. There's no room, not even to sit up. He's in a padded room... or a coffin? He wants to shout that he's not dead but he can't draw a breath. Maybe he truly is dead.

He finally wakes up, gasping for air. His throat feels tight and pressed, like a cat has been sitting on it. He didn't sleep well at all, and when he gets up he feels listless. Weighed down. He staggers from his bed to splash water on his face. 

Is this what it feels like to be old? Brett stares at the blurry reflection of himself in the mirror. He's not even 30 yet, for christ's sake.

*

Brett idly hums a melody as he makes his way to Eddy's house.

"Hold on, I'm almost done," Eddy says when he opens the door, the scent of ramen wafting over his shoulder. 

Brett shrugs. "Take your time." He plops himself down on the couch as Eddy resumes eating, his eyes going automatically to the table where Eddy's violin rests, double checking that it's in its usual spot. 

He's deeply involved in scrolling through memes on his phone when he realises Eddy's standing in front of him. "Hmm?"

Eddy's staring at him, brow furrowed. "What a coincidence," he says finally. "I've been playing that this morning."

Brett hums a bit of the melody again, the one that's been stuck in his head all day. "Wait, what is this?"

"Debussy violin sonata?" Eddy says. 

"Oh, right. Maybe I've heard you play it before?"

Eddy shakes his head. "There's no way. I just started learning it."

"Huh." Brett looks at Eddy, an uneasy feeling passing through him. He wonders if Eddy feels it too. "I guess I heard it somewhere else then."

*

It becomes harder and harder for Brett to ignore. The feeling of Eddy's fingers on him, light and nimble, coaxing life into him. Eddy's jaw cradled against him. The way he trembles when Eddy presses with his bow, drawing out every emotion Brett never thought he could feel, not this much, this many, this intensely.

Eddy's not even in the same room. Brett presses the palms of his hands over his eyes. He wants it to stop. He wishes it will never end. 

The music is singing through him. It's beautiful, and Eddy is drawing it out of him. It's beautiful, and this is what Eddy's touch feels like, against his skin, reaching down, into him, into his very soul. 

Brett doesn't move, and when Eddy finally stops playing and puts down the violin, Brett feels the scroll knock lightly against the table like it's his own skull, feels empty and hollow as the warmth of Eddy's hands leave him. Waiting. And cold.

*

"Brett, are you ok?" his mum says sharply as Brett jerks himself awake again, shaking his head, trying to remember the last thing she was saying.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he says without thinking, because he doesn't want her to worry. "I'm just a little tired. I haven't been sleeping well. But, I'm fine, honestly."

"Hmm," she says skeptically. "You should sleep more. You sound like you are getting sick. And if you're not, you will become sick if you don't get enough sleep."

"I'm trying! It's just... I don't know. I keep having weird dreams. Like, they're not bad, I don't think. Just, really weird."

His mum is quiet over the phone for once. Like maybe she's trying to figure out how much of a mental breakdown he's having right now. 

So of course, because he's desperate to fill the silence, he keeps babbling on. "I keep dreaming that I'm a violin. That's pretty weird, isn't it?"

This is when she's supposed to laugh, and call him a silly boy, and tell him that there is maybe such a thing as too much practice. Instead, she says, "Oh," with the weight of years of history behind that single syllable, and then she yells for his dad, and how it's all his grandmum's fault, and -

"Wait, mum, what?" Brett manages to get in edgewise, because this all sounds like something out of a fairytale instead of his real life. 

"Your father's mum was a tree spirit," his mum repeats. "They possess trees, and well, other things made out of wood. You hadn't shown any signs... so we thought it was just your brother who inherited her genes."

"What?!"

*

"Hello, little brother."

"Brett," Tim sighs, managing to sound exasperated and also way older than Brett, as always. "How're you going?"

"I hear we're descended from tree spirits or something."

"Wait, mum and dad told you? I thought - oh."

"Yeah, oh. I can't believe you didn't tell me you've known all about this this whole time."

Brett can hear the crisply starched shirt crinkle as Tim shrugs, even if he can't see him. "Look, it kind of sucked, even though I wasn't planning on going into music or anything like you were. And you were at uni, and I was studying for exams, and then... I kind of just tried not to think of it."

"So that's why you stopped playing cello," Brett says, the pieces coming together in his mind. "Did you stop... possessing it after you stopped?"

"Yeah, eventually. It faded over the year. In the beginning I just felt lonely and cold all the time. But I guess it was worth it in the end. I didn't want to spend my entire life in love with a cello."

"Oh," Brett says, trying to imagine how that would even work for him. How would he stop? Would he have to go away from Eddy? They just moved in together, and it wasn't like they didn't spend every day together before that anyway. Or would Eddy have to stop playing? Or... it all seemed impossible.

"But it's different for you, right? I mean, you're already in love with your violin, so that isn't necessarily a bad thing."

"It's not my violin," Brett says. 

"Ok, that's weird," Tim says. "What else could it be, if not - "

"It's Eddy's."

"Dude," Tim blurts out, then falls silent. 

"So, do you have any advice - "

"I didn't know you felt that way about him." Tim says abruptly.

"Look, I don't feel - he's just my friend, ok," Brett says, feeling like the biggest liar in the world because Eddy isn't _just_ a friend, he's his _best_ friend, even though that's a term that should have probably been left behind in grade school along with the tight, panicky feeling in his chest.

"I seriously don't know. I mean, it's only happened to me that once. I guess... you're in uncharted territory, bro. Sorry."

"Yeah, well." Brett forces himself to breathe again. "I guess I'll figure it out."

*

Thoughts churn around in Brett's head all day and well into the evening. He imagines walking away from Eddy, from their career, from this entire life they've built. What would he even do? Where would he go? He can't even begin to think about that, because he can't get past taking the first step away, from turning his back on the hurt and confusion and betrayal in Eddy's face, and letting the door swing shut behind him. It feels worse than the thought of his violin sliding through his fingers to crash and shatter into the floor.

He feels Eddy's fingers against his strings, warming him and opening him up so he can vibrate fully and be free. He gets up and knocks on Eddy's bedroom door. 

"Do you want to sleep?" Eddy says when he opens the door. "Because I can - "

Brett shakes his head and pushes past Eddy, making for his rumpled unmade bed. "Can I just hang out in here?"

"Uh, if you really want, but I was gonna practise - "

"I know. I just feel... kind of anxious," Brett says, because he doesn't know how to explain the rest, and Eddy understands anxiety. "Listening to a mind-numbing repetition of something might actually help."

"Yeah, of course," Eddy says, peering worriedly at Brett. "Do you wanna talk or something?"

Brett shakes his head, and he loves Eddy, because Eddy just pulls up his music on his iPad and starts practising without another word. Brett lets his eyes drift shut, lets the weight of Eddy's bow ground him, hold him safe. Lets Eddy's dancing fingers whisper him to sleep.

*

Brett wakes up warm and well-rested for once. Eddy's lying next to him, snoring lightly, arm cast over Brett's chest so Brett can't move even if he wants to. He doesn't.

Eddy wakes up gradually, pulling himself closer to Brett, shifting around to find another comfortable spot on the bed before he finally blinks his eyes open. He smiles when he sees Brett, instead of looking annoyed that Brett took over his bed and fell asleep in it. 

"Hey," Eddy says, voice morning-low. 

"Hey," Brett says. 

"Guess my playing worked," Eddy says, his smiling lips just about a metre away and still blurry. Brett curses his poor eyesight for not the last time. 

"Yeah, thanks."

"Anytime." Eddy lets go of Brett, stretching exaggeratedly before rolling out of bed. Brett should get up too, he really should, but he's too comfortable to move. He pretends to sleep as he watches Eddy go in and out of the room, rummaging around in his drawer shirtless, looking for something new to wear. He lets his eyes drift closed. Just 10 more minutes, and then he'll get up after that, he swears.

*

Eddy practises 4-6 hours a day, and when he's not practising, he sticks to Brett like glue. It takes awhile for Brett to notice - it's not like Eddy is constantly in his space, bugging him for attention. Just - Brett will look up from the couch, and there Eddy is, lounging on the other couch. Or if Brett is sitting at the table, answering emails, Eddy will inevitably wander in. Brett tries an experiment - he goes to his bedroom, leaving the door open. Sure enough, Eddy has some excuse to come talk to him, leaning against the open door frame.

Brett feels a little guilty. What if this is all his fault? What if he's making Eddy as dependent on him as he is on Eddy, on Eddy's fingers on his skin, on Eddy's hand sliding down his neck and around his body, on Eddy's deft touch... Brett shakes his head, snaps himself out of it. It's not _real_. Whatever this tree spirit bullshit is, the reality of the situation is that Eddy would never touch him the way he touches his violin.

"This sounds dumb," Eddy says, "but I feel like I've finally levelled up. Like for the longest time my playing has just been at a plateau, but now... I don't know. I'm getting so much more out of my violin than I ever have been able to before. It's nice, you know?"

"Yeah, of course," Brett says, sick with... envy? Self-loathing? "That makes sense. You sound amazing. I should practise as much as you."

"Aw, thanks," Eddy says. "I dunno, it just feels easier. To practise more, I mean. Playing is still as hard as ever, of course. But I'm having fun experimenting and exploring. It's like... the world is bigger than I ever knew it was."

Brett smiles to hide his grimace of pain. He doesn't feel bitter or anything. All he wants is for Eddy to take him with him.

*

Brett lays on his bed, arms over his face. "I'm fucked," he says out loud. He's alone in the house. Eddy went out for groceries, and he's never felt more cold and alone. "I'm in love with Eddy."

He flings himself up and sits cross-legged in the middle of the bed. "I'm in love with Eddy," he repeats. It sounds true. If it sounds true, it must be true. But Brett can't be sure, not when he feels like a literal ghost. When he feels this transparent with longing. 

He hears Eddy come in, struggling with trying to carry all of the bags in at once. He gets up on reflex to go help him, but Eddy's managed to make it all the way to the kitchen on his own. 

"Dude, are you ok?" Eddy says when he looks over at Brett, and then he puts the jar of mayo on the counter and walks around the mess of groceries on the floor to hug Brett. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I am the ghost," Brett wants to say, but he warms up quickly in Eddy's arms, and suddenly everything is ok again.

*

Eddy's practising sautille and it feels almost unbearably overwhelming. It feels like free fall. Brett can barely catch his breath. After awhile he manages to breathe through it anyway, and trust Eddy to catch him again and again and again. Eventually Eddy stops and turns to Debussy again, and Brett's knees go weak with relief. He just leans against the wall and listens.

He's so lost in his own personal reverie that he hardly notices when Eddy stops playing, when the door opens and Eddy's standing right in front of him. Eddy's violin is still warm, shivers of vibrations shimmering through every cell of the wood.

"Oh," Eddy says. "You can come in if you want to listen. Whenever you want."

"Brett?" Eddy steps closer, and Eddy's warm brown eyes fill Brett's field of vision. He raises his hand and touches Brett's cheek, pinky trailing against Brett's jawbone. "Are you - " His hand is shaking.

Brett turns his head and kisses Eddy's palm. Eddy's sharp, startled inhale, and then Eddy is pressing Brett into the wall and kissing him, mouth warm and wet and familiar over his own, even though Brett's never felt this, never felt this way before.

*

"You just looked so open. So vulnerable," Eddy is saying, and Brett wraps his hand around Eddy's wrist, simply because he can.

"I can't help feeling that way around you," Brett says. "I don't know why that changed, but it did." It's not a lie. He knows _how_ , but why - after all these years, why did the tree spirit part of him decide to wake up and haunt Eddy's violin?

"I want to give you everything," Eddy confesses. "That's not new. Just tell me - anything you want - "

"I want - " Brett thinks over his words carefully. "I want you to play duets with me, and to stay with me, and to love me."

"That's all?" Eddy says. 

Brett nods, resting his head against Eddy's side. 

"That's easy." Eddy laughs a little. "I've been doing that for years."

"Oh," Brett says, the brick wall that he's built around Eddy in his mind coming tumbling down. "Am I... am I that oblivious?"

Eddy smiles and doesn't answer.

*

"I can feel every note you play ring out inside of me," Brett tries to explain.

"Yes?" Eddy says, puzzled. Because, of course. Because music is rife with metaphors, and he doesn't get the difference, doesn't understand that hearing the music is different from the physical sensation of _feeling_ it. It's not going through him, it's starting from his bones and coming out of him.

"It's not - " Brett takes a deep breath and tries again, because it's somehow important that Eddy understands this. "It's not coming through here," he says, tapping Eddy's ear, feeling Eddy shiver away from his fingers, ever ticklish. "It's coming _from_ here," he says, resting his palm against Eddy's chest, feeling for his thumping heart. 

"When you play?" Eddy says, trying to listen so hard but still not understanding.

"No. When you play. Only you," Brett says, and something clicks in Eddy's mind. Eddy's hand covers Brett's, his eyes darken. 

"Yes," Eddy says. "I can feel you, too."


End file.
